In His Eyes
by Magicallioness
Summary: Exactly why does Vegeta train so hard to beat the androids? The answer may surprise you.


I stand in front of our bedroomwindow and watch him train in the garden below

_Disclaimer:_

_I don't own Dragon Ball or any of it's character. They belong to Akira Toriyama and others who paid for their fun. I'm not paying or getting paid to play around with them. Just having fun. No copyrights figment intended, so please don't sue._

_Author's note:_

_This jumped me during dinner one day. My first Dragon Ball fanfic, so please R&R. _

_No beta, because none of my beta's know DBZ._

**Summary:**

**Exactly why does Vegeta train so hard to beat the androids? The answer may surprise you.**

In His Eyes

I stand in front of our bedroom window and watch him train in the garden below. A blurry of movement, turning as still as a statue, only to move again. His strength and speed are magnificent. He hasn't surpassed me yet, but if I'm not careful that day may soon come.

The balance in his kata's is rivaled only by my own. I watch muscles roll as he greets his invisible opponent in movements controlled to perfection. I can't help the feeling of pride that wells up in me as he executes a punch, stretching and bending his arm flawelessly. And by Kami, I don't want to. I wish to feel pride for this young man. Pride and kinship, like Kakarott does.

Another beautiful punch, like his face. He must take after his mother. His strength comes from my genes no doubt, but his beauty, it must be his mothers. It's an innocent beauty, the same kind that ensnared me, I think, as I turn and look at the shapeless thing lying in a cradle next to our bed. What these earthlings see in their young I don't understand. They're lumps of meat, useless, unable to take care of even themselves. Worthless.

I turn back to the window and see my son do push-ups on the finger of one hand, like I do to get warmed up. Yes, his strength originates from me. He looks like me. But what about that thing inside him, does that too?

I frown at the thought. Of course I'm a ruthless warrior, merciless some might still say. Although my years on this mud ball have made me weak, coming to the aid of those who can't defend themselves, of those who are worthless, some may still remember the cold, steel hearted warrior that once lived inside me. But him? No, I do not want to be like him.

The brat wakes up and begins to murmur, so I go to pick it up, before it wakes the woman with his cries. It clings to my neck with it's nasty, useless, little hands but I know I can't pry it off. I've learned through experience that the brat starts to scream when I do that.

The frown doesn't leave my face as I turn back to the window and find my son has found a real sparring partner. I'm not unnerved by the calculating, concentrated look that enters his eyes as he crouches down in battle stance, awaiting Goten's attack. It's natural, Saiyan. Even Kakarott has that look when he enters a fight. No, it's the thing that simmers beneath his eyes that scares me.

I saw it first when he fought Freeza and then Cooler. No, he didn't fight them, he butchered them. I saw it then in his eyes. They were cold, hard like stone and empty. And that's what scared me. There was no emotion in his eyes, not even a flicker. No hatred, no thirst for revenge, no satisfaction at defeating his enemies, no pride, nothing. He didn't even flinch as he cut Freeza into pieces or blasted Cooler into oblivion. He just looked on, face set in stone, like he wasn't even there.

I know I'm not a kind man. I'm cruel, cold and some might even say evil, but at least I am. And even though I don't do it often and certainly not in public, I do know how to show affection. How else could I hold this brat in my arms right now?

But this young man outside my bedroom window? He is a kind man, when he is, that is. But at times, he disappears and leaves behind a shell. A cold, ruthless, killing shell and I swear that when he's like that, he doesn't care what or who he kills. He would kill this defenceless brat in my arms without second thought, even if there's no honour in killing those that can't defend themselves.

Something inside me aches when I think of the brat. I look between the two of them and see the same purple hair, the same pointy nose. They look so much alike, but are they one and the same? Perhaps not, their eyes are different. Those of the young man outside are innocent at times, calculating and narrowed in battle and cold, empty when he kills. This brat, his eyes are only innocent, full with wonder about the world that surrounds him. A world that could bring him so much pain.

I close my eyes and fight off the onslaught of images. My father telling me to go with Freeza, my home planet destroyed by the tyrant. The years and years of forced service to the Ice Djin. Being bested by Kakarott again and again. It made me hard and cold, yes, but not soulless. The fact that I can still feel the pain tells me that I'm still here. Unlike the young man in my garden.

Will this brat grow up to be the soulless thing in my garden? Will his eyes one day turn empty and cold? I cradle the infant closer, realizing I don't want him to grow up like that. I don't want him to lose his father and friends. I'll do everything I can to prevent it. I'll defeat those androids and prevent it all from happening.

I put the brat back in his bed and leave him to the woman's care. I have to train.


End file.
